


A Skeleton Plague Doctor in Lord Dream's Court

by Kamari333



Series: Dr33mtal3 [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dr33mtal3 (Undertale), Blood, Blood Drinking, Body Horror, Body Modification, Broken Bones, Coffee, Contains Plague Doctor, Dr33mtal3 Sans | Dream (Undertale), Gen, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Mutilation, POV Original Character, Plague Doctor - Freeform, Science Sans | Sci (Undertale), _____tale Sans | Ink (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24033730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamari333/pseuds/Kamari333
Summary: Falsi is a Sans-type skeleton monster, like many others in the halfway house for wayward outcodes run by the Star Sanses. His aesthetic is a bit more macabre than his peers, and he has much to critique about his circumstances.It's not all bad. In fact, there's hardly any bad at all.
Series: Dr33mtal3 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733713
Comments: 63
Kudos: 62
Collections: Kamari333 Gifts and Prompts





	1. Coffee to start the day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Biryu13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biryu13/gifts).



> A story from the perspective of my friend Moth's OC, Falsi, a plague doctor!Sans from a bloodborne-esque AU that no longer exists.
> 
> Fitting for the year, hmm? wink wonk.
> 
> Lets be honest, I've been chomping at the bit to write about the multiverse of my Dreamtale AU, and this "request" was just a perfect opportunity. I'm a weak bitch who is at the mercy of my muses and my muses say they want to play with Dr33mtal3.
> 
> Everyone be nice to Falsi, I honestly love him.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every morning, Falsi needs to start his day with a black coffee. Maybe under different circumstances, he'd prefer his morning joe with a touch of caramel, but if he has even one more bit of sweetness in his life he's pretty sure he'll keel over and dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE THIS BOI AND I AM SO GLAD MY FRIEND WANTS ME TO USE HIM.  
> this is absolutely canon to my story btw falsi has been adopted.

Falsi woke up from a restful sleep on his examination table, shifting under his thick black blanket (one of the few luxuries he was allowed, usually kept hidden away in his bedroom with all the other small luxuries he had managed to keep, like his collection of skulls, his beast fur pelt, his mask, and the tapes and videos of a more personal nature he had collected over the years). He slid down to the floor, thankful once again for the mercy of a windowless apartment, as he folded his blanket and stumbled into the adjacent room: his bedroom.

With the sole exception being the terribly soft, unusable double bed (too soft, just like the rest of the house, Falsi should get a wooden board and a futon and layer them on top, maybe then he could actually use the damn thing), this was the closest thing to a personal space he had. The walls were a dark red, so dark as to be black, like blood, and the hardwood floor was smooth despite its aged appearance. Falsi lay his blanket atop the mattress he needed replaced (or perhaps filled with the warmth of another -- Falsi wasn't one to dwell in denial, he knew himself lonely and longing at times, more than he cared to think about, more than the air in the house would allow him to think about) then let himself linger over his mask, left so long unused. The long beak of his plague doctor mask made drinking his morning coffee a bit of a hassle, but the weight and protection it provided would have made it more than worth the inconvenience, had he been allowed to wear it outside his room. Alas, it was viewed in a negative light by the masses, and _woe betide anyone or anything to bring negativity into the House of Dreams_.

Speaking of coffee, it was _definitely_ time for coffee.

Falsi left his bedroom, locking the door behind him once more before crossing the still-dark office, then entered one of the few actual hallways in the trick house that Dream ruled over. Falsi strode down the bare, dark hall with a small sense of pride, having commissioned it special from the house's architect (the chaotic loon was more than happy to apply himself to the task once directed). The hall opened up to the chaos that was the House of Dreams, hundreds upon hundreds of refugees from broken or unsalvageable situations milling about, some beginning their day as Falsi was, others ending it, an ouroboros of activity. Falsi wove through the crowd, thick as any carnival of fools ( _for that was what they were, with their smiles and the glitter of fools gold in their eyes, not like Falsi, who wore his mask on his soul_ ) on his way through the two common rooms and the game room in between his cozy corner of the house and the kitchen.

The kitchen was a warzone all its own. Enthusiastic but inept chefs battled with the concept of cooking at all hours. It was a wonder that nothing was set afire. Falsi, however, was only interested in the special little corner dedicated to the coffee machine. Already a fresh pot was percolating, watched over by a cheerful ( _ever cheerful, outside the safety of a ward, outside the safety of a mask that Falsi offered but he never wore_ ) Sci.

"good morning, falsi," Sci greeted without looking away from the coffee pot, his smile reflected back at him, distorted and grotesque.

"heheheheh, good morning, sci," Falsi giggled (because what wasn't funny about it? every morning was _good_ , whether it was supposed to be or not, whether they wanted it to be or not, there were only ever _good_ mornings, and wasn't that _hilarious_ ), sitting himself on one of the nearby stools.

"coffee?"

"coffee."

The same conversation they had had every day, for only the gods knew how long, frozen and immortal in their timeless liminal space they had made into a home, where nothing grew, nothing degraded, and nothing lived as life was meant to be lived.

And wasn't that the best joke of all?

The little light on the machine blinked on, signifying the completion of their liquid rejuvenation. As per usual, the pot levitated all on its own, pouring out three cups. Falsi could not see the force that moved them, but he had heard stories of a winged creature that tended the garden of mercy in people's hearts. Falsi had come to believe the tales, given that so often, what the invisible one handed him was the only mercy he ever seemed to get in this house of perfection and lies. The coffee was rapturous, bitter and black, strong and caustic, just like his soul. Downing it in a few shots, Falsi set the empty cup down and gave a salute to the empty space where a person probably was, but he would never know.

It was a decent morning, a relief to check and confirm that he was remembered, that someone still knew his name, despite being suffocated and squeezed in the pervasive pestilence of positivity that he had to beat back out of his space with a stick.

Well, not entirely out of his office, but at least out of his goddamn bedroom.

Not that his office was wholly _his_ to begin with, the image sanitized and impersonal. Falsi returned to it, flipping on the overhead lights to cast their harsh brightness on the room. The walls were a pale cream (not white, never white; Ink would do just about anything, but ask him to make something _white_ and he would suddenly lose his linguistic comprehension), covered in colorful stickers of cartoon animals. The wall opposite the door was covered in a mural of a clear blue sky with bees harassing a field of golden flowers in the foreground. It was nauseatingly bright and chipper, like one would expect of a children's clinic.

Falsi was not a general practitioner, and deep down in his heart of hearts, he resented being relegated to the resident band-aid dispenser for a house of fools. Alas, it was an important duty, and someone had to perform it. Certainly no one else seemed to know their femur from their humerus, and with all the chaos and unmitigated mania, accidents happened rather regularly that needed fixed by a steady hand.

Falsi settled in to wait, knowing this was only the beginning of his day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <33


	2. Just a Trim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falsi isn't a barber. But he doesn't mind being one as a treat. Especially when he gets to keep the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we get to see falsi being a little weird here
> 
> also some of the implications of whats going on could be a bit... horrifying? so check the tags and be safe yall. i tried to cover everything.

Falsi was starting to contemplate going out for another coffee run when there was a knock on his office door. " _Falsi?_ " The voice was melodic, sweet as honey and just as sticky, clinging and cloying as if to reshape the inner machinations of the listener's mind. " _Would this moment be convenient for you?_ "

Falsi had no doubt a denial would have the creature letting him be, only to return either in half a day or more to ask again. Falsi could deny him, as he had in the past, and have it respected. He also knew it would do no one any favors to delay.

Besides, if his tenuous concept of time was right, then this would be one of the more entertaining of the visits from his landlord and sovereign.

The thought made him laugh. "heheheheheh, sure, come on in."

The door opened from the outside, letting in a warm wind and a harsh yellow light. In stepped a creature of (almost) unparalleled grace and elegance. Dream was only two-thirds Falsi's height, a whopping four-foot-nothing, but he had a way of looking up at him (and most of the rest of the world) from the top of his sockets, never tilting his head much higher than he would facing forward. His eyelights were a harsh neon yellow, vivid, yet Falsi could not help but see it as flat, subdued, the artist's rendition of the sun in water colors held up to block the light of the sun itself, the thin, flimsy paper not strong enough to block out all the light shining from beyond. His wings, which he kept primly folded against his back (too massive to stretch out indoors, each one as big as the rest of his body by itself) glowed with the same light, the occasional dusting of yellow glitter shaking from his feathers to decorate the floor, his every footstep marked in the same fools gold that he filled in the hearts of his people. Along with him, Dream brought a pervasive aura of mania, emanating dopamine like some did cologne (wearing too much and leaving the smell burned into the air after they pass, as obvious and evocative as the trails of slime left by passing slugs).

" _Thank you for your time, good doctor,_ " Dream said, closing the door behind him. His ever present smile (the only lie Dream ever told) softened in a brief stint of genuine gratitude. " _I had hoped you might be interested in..._ " He spread his one wing just enough to show how the tips of his largest, lowest feathers dragged along the floor.

"heheheh, yes, time for clipping and samples and all of that!" Falsi rubbed his hands together, leather swishing softly against leather except where his ring and middle fingers clicked, bare bone. He shuffled over to pick up the tall stool he kept around just for Dream, setting it in the middle of the room and gesturing for his guest to sit.

As Dream climbed up to sit on the stool, elevating himself higher than he would stand, Falsi opened his cabinet and pulled out his toolbox, pulling from it a set of scissors that looked like a cross between hair clippers and gardening shears, one blade a tad thicker than the other. Out of habit, Falsi tested the sharpness with the bare distal tip of his thumb unshielded by his gloves, pleased to see his careful cleaning had kept them in good condition so far. He turned back to find Dream situated, seated facing the door (his back to the mural he never looked at directly).

"time certainly flies even without it being here, doesn't it?" Falsi prattled on, stepping up to stand between the loosely folded wings. He turned to start with the left one, smoothing a hand over the ridge and guiding Dream to stretch it out for him as far as he could (this was one of the reasons Falsi had been allowed such a large clinic.)

" _It does indeed,_ " Dream agreed, gripping the edge of this stool under him a bit tighter. Falsi heard the stress squeezed out of the soft black leather, heard the gentle scrape of calcified fingertips on the wooden stool.

Falsi took a few steps to reach the very ends of Dream's wings, feeling along the ridge. His bare fingers burned pleasantly (always pleasantly) at contact with the soft strips of manifested light, the begloved ones buzzing in muted sympathy. Touching Dream's wings was like dipping his hand in molten lava, but instead of heat, what scorched his essence was pure bliss. Falsi, of course, was a tad numb to it (the hows and whys being trivial details), but he had borne witness to the unfiltered affects of their influence (and the lingering aftereffects, which would be worth a doctoral dissertation all their own, and one day Falsi would embibe enough wine to write it). Even so, in controlled quantities, Falsi had to admit they were awe inspiring to behold, truly aweful in every sense of the word. He appreciated the smooth, rubbery texture that tapered into softer silk to the tune of Dream's heavy breathing, feeling where the virile growths had become unruly and where they could be left unmolested.

"perhaps if you didn't gorge yourself so often, they wouldn't grow so fast," Falsi commented idly, as he always did. "or you could try wearing netting?"

" _I eat what is offered me, and if I wore netting, it would make flying difficult-_ " Dream's voice hit a high note at the end at the same moment Falsi made the first snip, before cutting out completely.

Falsi held the trimmed end of the first unruly feather, watching the harsh gold light stutter before turning a lovely red, its light fading to a soft, subtle glow emanating from the many tiny veins running through it. The cut end bled a sweet smelling substance, spun sugar and light. Falsi licked the welling beads from the paper thin edge, grinning as it melted on his tongue. He placed the cutting in a metal tray, repressing the urge to jam a spigot in Dream's shoulder and drain him dry.

On Dream, the cut end stood out flat and obvious among the shining gold of its peers, dripping that same sweetness, flushed and bruised a bubblegum pink as pretty as the petals of a rose.

Falsi, ever dutiful, took to that same pesky feather and snipped it into shape, smoothing the flat to a more artful tapered end. Dream was oddly silent, save for the soft quiver of his breathing and a single, primal note that was cut short too soon to interpret any meaning from. The golden shreds fell to the floor as red confetti, and it was only after picking them up to add to the metal tray that Falsi remembered to put a tarp down, to catch the rest for easier cleanup.

"thats one!" Falsi chirped between excited giggles, thumbing at the newly cut edges and licking the blood from his thumb.

" _...Thank you for your assistance,_ " Dream said softly. Falsi knew what he really meant.

Feeling along again for the next in need of trimming, Falsi continued to giggle. He worked meticulously, going down the line one by one to make certain the feathers stayed uniform in size for each tier, smallest at the top, largest at the bottom. When he reached the bottom most ones, he measured out how long they would need to be for flight, and gleefully trimmed all the excess away, effectively chopping swaths off to litter his tarp. Each time he clipped them, Dream went rigid in that way that one did when they stopped themselves from flinching. He barely said a word besides a soft, hushed breath that sounded like, " _faex,_ " but Falsi did not know its meaning and wrote it off as gibberish. He certainly enjoyed a little gibberish from time to time, and if that was the only way Dream knew how to swear, it would be fitting somehow.

By the time Falsi stepped back to admire his work: his tarp was scattered in red, both stains and the shredded paper remains of the trimmed feathers; Dream's wings were an inch and a half shorter on almost every side; the clipped edges were mostly dried and healed through, on the first wing, although the other still dripped with the sweet ambrosia that ran through the god's veins as blood. Falsi, ever helpful, took a wet cloth to Dream's wings for a last bit of cleanup, wiping the red stains free to better show off the swollen pink edges that quivered with every one of Dream's shaky breaths.

"think thats it," Falsi trilled, wiggling in glee at the sight of his many samples.

Dream stretched and flexed his newly trimmed wings. "... _Much better. Lovely work as always, good doctor._ "

"pleasure doing business with you," Falsi agreed, picking up the tarp and carefully wadding it to filter the scraps into his metal samples' tray. He would have to scrape off the hardened splatters of ooze, but he could do that at his leisure.

Dream remained seated, the two of them sharing a companionable silence until the last of the pink faded from Dream's person, and he took his leave.


	3. Dayjob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falsi has personal projects, but they can't really come before his dayjob. A doctor's work is never really done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moth being a great and encouraging beta as usual
> 
> also, i drew Falsi!!

Falsi was carefully grinding the samples he had cut from Dream the old fashioned way; he had a machine somewhere (a gift from Sci from some years ago) that did the job faster and with less effort, but Falsi found the scrape and ring of mortar and pestle, the trace elements of earth, and his own personal touch, made the end result all the better. The paste he had already made was percolating in a beaker, being refined further over a small flame. Today's batch seemed to mostly consist of reds, but Falsi had found that, when refined properly, reds became a wide spectrum of hues (red, blue, pink, purple, black, and even a green color once). The hows and whys still eluded him, but he could not argue with results.

It was peaceful, calming work.

The calm was almost comically interrupted by loud knocking. One would think such regular activity would become expected, but even after so long, it still startled Falsi to the point he nearly spilled his hard work. Fumbling to catch his dropped pestle and keep the mortar from tipping over (thank goodness he had insisted on the quality heavy one and not the cheap modern garbage that was so easily flung about), Falsi reined in his initial instinct to shout the invaders off. "yes??" He called without looking up.

Falsi watched over his shoulder as the door swung open behind him. In came two swap-sans types. They were a rather common subsection of the house, although their armour tended to vary in a range of designs, shades of blue, and level of practicality (from 'cheap target knock-off replica made of felt and sadness', to 'carefully treated leather and chainmail that was probably handcrafted, but it would still stop a knife and that's the point', and Falsi found that he could tolerate one type more consistently than the other). They were helping to support a wobbly tale-papyrus type, whose leg appeared a bit askew in a familiar 'struck with a heavy object moving very fast' sort of way. Another tale-papyrus type trailed behind, smiling nervously and stinking of guilt.

Falsi might have had more sympathy, if this were not a daily occurrence.

"DR FALSI!! LOOK, MAPLE HAS A BROKEN LEG!" One of the swaps (Falsi thought this one was called Muffin, but he honestly stopped trying to remember them all a while ago; even he couldn't remember thousands of names).

Maple (the injured Papyrus) smiled sheepishly, seemingly more embarrassed than concerned. "IF WE COULD BORROW SOME GAUZE?"

Falsi put a cover over his work, gesturing to the unused medical table. "come, sit, sit, i have, heh, just the thing for ya!" He turned to quickly wash his hands (it wouldn't do to contaminate his patient with his experiment, not at all) as the helpful Sansi got the injured Papyrus onto the table.

"so what happened this time?"

"I WAS HAVING A SPARRING MATCH WITH CINNAMON AND I WENT LEFT INSTEAD OF RIGHT," The Papyrus (Maple?) explained, the level of helpfulness of which was determined by Falsi's prior knowledge of their behavior. By this point, Falsi was well versed ( _and wasn't that a bit of wordplay he should stop to appreciate_ ) in the habits of the tenants over which he was responsible. The Papyri and Swap Sansi had excessive energy levels, which they tended to burn by rough housing out in the yards. This led to a number of sports-related injuries, as well as injuries that an unbiased, critical eye would determine (out-of-context) to be the result of a severe beating, the likes of which would look unremarkable among those of a bar fight left to go out of hand.

Falsi wouldn't begrudge them their coping mechanisms, not when he would do the same if he thought it would help. He only wished they would bother to learn how to clean up after themselves.

"the usual, then," Falsi hummed, drying his hands before pulling out the gauze, bone glue, and a splint from his supplies. He knelt by the offending leg, shooing the other Swap Sans (Taco? Falsi thought it was Taco) out of the way. Splitting the middle between care and efficiency, Falsi unlaced and removed Maple's boot, then slit his tights to get access to the bone beneath. Sure enough, the fibula had snapped near the patella, and without the body suit holding it in place, the lower half began to fall under its own weight in an arc from its last fulcrum, where it was still holding on to the collective area of the ankle. Falsi caught it before it could shift more than a few degrees, thumbing at the undamaged portion absently as he inspected the break: blunt force trauma, bruised and cracked. A little metaphorical spit and it would heal just fine on its own.

Pleased, Falsi applied the glue to the end of the lower half with a swab, carefully dabbing the adhesive so it wouldn't obstruct the hollow tunnels within. His patient trembled ( _a perfectly reasonable response: no one really got used to having their insides touched_ ), bracing himself with both hands on the edge of the table. Falsi didn't give any warning, simply slotting the two broken ends back together. Above him, Maple let out a soft whimper of pain ( _also reasonable: Falsi appreciated someone who could keep their screaming to a minimum while he was working, but he also knew that pain hurt, and sometimes you had to make noise about it_ ), tense with a flinch he wasn't allowing himself to follow through on.

Papyri tended to collectively have preternatural control ( _of their bodies, of their magic, of their feelings and behavior, but not always their words_ ). Falsi supposed that was why the break was clean, and the damage isolated.

"alright, give it three months or find a healer." Falsi placed the splint and wrapped the leg up, tying the gauze securely. "but not pancake: guys not qualified and i dont wanna see ya back here cuz he exploded your calcium."

"A LEG IS NOT A BODY PART FROM WHICH CALCIUM SHOULD EXPLODE!" Maple said, a bit tight but leaning hard on the sickening false cheer.

"YES, CALCIUM EXPLODES FROM HIGHER UP." Taco joked.

"HIGHER ON ME THAN YOU," put in Cinnamon, who was offering his arm to his injured companion for support. Maple accepted it, holding no grudge.

To Falsi's eye, there was nothing but gratitude between them, gratitude and shared guilt. Ah, well, not his business. It was not as if he had not also benefited from the method of physical destabilization, however unintentional. Resisting the unnecessarily romantic urge to map the crack on his face with his fingertips, Falsi rolled up the unused gauze and capped his glue, gathering them up to put away once more. "now shoo, shoo with you. don't walk on that leg until the callous hardens. but shoo."

"THANK YOU DR FALSI," the group chorused, heading out at the snail's pace of a one legged drunk.

Falsi waited until they were gone before he uncovered his work. In the beaker, the powder and paste was already starting to mature in hue, and he could see the colors beginning to separate under the heat, making layers of colors. There was an odd break of yellow ( _the warm sun-gold color, bright like laughter, not the sickly neon he had come to despise_ ) separating two different shades of red, one darker than the other (and going darker still as it shifted into the colder purple). Refined yellow was rare, far too rare (the implications of which Falsi never lingered over), so the sight brought him a good deal of glee.

As much as it would bring its buyer, no doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theres a lot that was implied here that I'm not sure everyone is going to get just from context, because i dont think my implicit writing is as strong as it needs to be to say what i want. ah well. thats what comments are for.


	4. Business and Pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falsi handles some business with his most lucrative customer. The deal may seem a bit shady, but they both get what they want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> with this, we come to the end of Falsi's story! Well, this one, anyway. Maybe we'll see more of him later, hmm?

A few more groups wandered into Falsi's clinic, each carrying with them at least one in need of medical care. Once or twice they would bring him something as compensation, although the offering was rarely of any great interest: an origami froggit; a crochet doily; a bone attack wrapped in colorful paper; he appreciated the mocha frappuccino, although it could have done with a few more shots in it. Falsi had finished off the drink long before he heard the lack-of-a-knock herald his business partner's arrival.

The door creaked open as Falsi watched, and two heterochromatic eyelights peered at him from around the wooden barrier. "falsi..?" came the hushed stage whisper, the eyelights shifting to a starburst and a question mark, colored in orange and magenta respectively (colors which Falsi theorized bespoke of excitement and a primal _want_ , a craving). "did he come today?"

"came and went, came and went!" Falsi answered cheerfully. "and left behind a handsome bounty!" Falsi rubbed his hands together. "but can you pay?"

"dont i always?" Ink asked, creeping in now that he knew Dream had absconded, and would not be likely to return for some time.

"you have forgotten your metaphorical wallet a time or two," Falsi admitted, getting up from his seat. He pulled back the sheet, revealing the result of his toil: a number of vials, in which were contained vivid dyes of the richest colors: bloody red, two kinds of purple, a bright bubblegum pink, a simple orange, and the deepest pure blue.

Ink stared at them, colorful eyelights flipping through shapes and hues with a speed and excitement that was deserving of a warning for epileptics. His left hand wandered up to his bandolier, fingering at the vials he kept strapped there, wandering over the spectrum of colors that always lacked the very hues Falsi now had to offer (the space where red would logically reside taken up by a spare yellow vial, the space where blue should have been overtaken by a warm cyan, his purple and pink vials tragically empty). Ink took a step forward, reaching for the lovely red-

And Falsi smacked his hand away with his own. "no, no, no, pay first, then sample. you know the rules, remember?"

Ink rubbed where he was struck across the wrist, before taking the orange from his supply and giving himself a rejuvenating sip. "of course! how silly of me!" He reached into his bag, pulling out a manilla envelope that didn't look as if it should have fit, given its size. He handed it over for Falsi to inspect.

Falsi opened the package with a giggle, finding inside a CD, an SD card, two memory sticks, a DVD, and a few polaroids. He pulled out one of the pictures to better inspect it. It was a dynamic shot, the subject framed tastefully (in every sense of the word): Wrists secured by what appeared to be a streak of purple paint, which Falsi could surmise was as effective as cement, over the subjects head, those tri-colored hands balled into defiant fists; spine arched up, making the tattered jacket fall open and the ratty t-shirt ride up to expose the spine, as well as the tips of his pelvis from under his shorts; cerulean tear-stains overshadowed by a golden blush on ebony cheeks, framing his grit teeth; glittering red determination shining through the glitches surrounding those captivating eyelights. If the cover image was any indication, the rest of this treasure trove would bring Falsi many nights of satisfaction.

"excellent, excellent~ paid in full, have fun!" Falsi tittered, putting the picture back and closing the folder. Immediately, Ink lunged for the vials, gathering them up and stuffing them in a secret pocket in his shirt. He knew better than to sample the forbidden substances there, in the center of Dream's domain. Instead, he rushed off, likely to a distant hideaway where he could indulge in his masochistic decadence uninterrupted.

Falsi calmly walked to his bedroom, opening his little chest of treasures to add the manilla folder with the rest. He lingered, letting his fingers graze over a yarn doll in the image of his obsession, supposedly made by his very hand (although Falsi had no proof of it). Ah, if wishes were fishes, and all that.

Knowing his day was not yet over, Falsi returned to his clinic, fingering the last vial left of his colorful creations. It cast a faintly golden light against his hand, glittering like treasure worthy of a dragon's envy.

Falsi admired the pure euphoria in his hand a little longer, before securing it away with his other samples. He'd pick up on his experiments tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Dr33mtal3  
> :3

**Author's Note:**

> my social media is in my profile. hmu if u wanna.


End file.
